Chapter 230: Who Are the Americans?
One by one, the Irish soldiers rushed toward the British outpost while firing. The British counterattack seemed pathetic in the face of continuous attacks from all directions.
Ron pretended to be hit at just the right moment and secretly rolled back to the bushes where Grant was hiding.
"Quick, turn on the speakers!" Ron shouted.
"Speakers? Please tell me you're not about to play the 'Braveheart' theme song," Grant pressed the switch, and sure enough, the music from "Braveheart" blasted through the high-powered speakers positioned nearby, filling the air with the sound of Scottish bagpipes.
He thought Ron was completely unhinged, but he'd placed all his hopes for avenging his daughter on Ron. Most importantly, at least so far, all of Ron's seemingly insane plans had actually worked!
"What's the point of fighting without a soundtrack? Look, aren't they fighting harder now?" Ron observed the battlefield with satisfaction.
By this point, the Irish had completely gained the upper hand, overwhelming the British forces. Ron even saw them roll two tanks out of the forest!
Remember, this was just an ordinary infantry outpost maintaining border security, with at most a few armored personnel carriers. The arrival of tanks effectively sealed the outcome.
"The Irish are winning," Grant muttered, the fierce battle rekindling memories of his youth amid the gunfire.
"Winning, but also losing," Ron began packing up his equipment. "Soon, they'll face reinforcements from other regional bases, escalating the situation. By then, this won't be a terrorist incident anymore, but a regional rebellion.
Then, the British Army will undoubtedly remind them why their ancestors originally agreed to partition Ireland and join the Commonwealth. But that's not our problem; we've already achieved our objective."
It had been Mycroft's intention to have Ron masquerade as IRA and continue serious provocations against Britain. This would allow the London establishment he represented to apply political pressure on the Irish, forcing them to cede greater autonomy.
Mycroft just hadn't specified how far Ron should take it. This played right into Ron's hands. He and the CIA had orchestrated an Irish uprising for them to witness.
If questioned, Ron had a perfect response ready: You told me to do it, didn't you?
But Ron's phone hadn't rung yet.
As the head of a major British intelligence service, Mycroft couldn't be unaware of such a significant development, but he hadn't called yet—obviously because he knew exactly what kind of smart-ass excuse Ron would give him.
"Where to now?" Grant asked as he drove.
"Hennessy's estate, naturally. You know where his property is, right?"
"Of course!" Grant agreed enthusiastically, pressing the accelerator a bit harder.
"Right now, the Irish and British are at each other's throats. That cunning old bastard will definitely be holed up in his manor to maintain plausible deniability and show he has nothing to do with this incident."
"So we go straight to the estate to find him?"
"No," Ron said, using his phone's GPS system. "We stop here first and change into British Army uniforms. Then it'll be like SAS versus James Bond."
...
Liam Hennessy's estate sits on the outskirts of County Carlow's forests, surrounded by vast pastures. It's more like a luxury ranch than a traditional manor.
It even has a dedicated cattle barn. Ron's intelligence suggested the ranch housed at least a hundred head of cattle, but the staff, including Hennessy's security detail, numbered no more than fifty. This raised another red flag.
"Grant, have you ever studied military strategy?" Ron asked excitedly, stepping back from his observation position.
Grant was puzzled. "You just finished discussing military history and now you're talking strategy? Are you sure you're American and not some kind of walking encyclopedia? Why does it feel like you, an American, know more about warfare than me, a Marine veteran?"
Grant found Ron a bit pretentious. A typical American might pick up a few foreign phrases to impress someone at a bar. Who actually bothered studying this stuff seriously?
"Well, it seems you haven't studied it much. That's unfortunate. Military strategy is fascinating," Ron sighed in disappointment after Grant didn't respond for a while.
"I haven't studied it extensively. What's your plan?"
Ron pointed to the cattle barn. "Look over there. Because the barn smells terrible, that clever old fox built it outside the main compound. I bet there's minimal security, and even if there is, it's easily neutralized."
"Then what?" Grant was still confused about Ron's idea.
"Then we strap these plastic explosives to the cattle, drive them toward the manor, and detonate them remotely. If I remember correctly, this tactic is similar to what Sherman used during his march through Georgia—total warfare."
"Okay, I've heard stories about Civil War tactics from my grandfather, but what's the point? Isn't our goal to eliminate Hennessy? Won't he escape if we make such a commotion?" Grant shook his head in objection.
"Escape? Where could he go? With his limitations, would he really dare venture into the forest alone? That would be suicide. He's seen your file and knows you're from the finest military in the world. Nobody wants to fight guerrilla warfare in the woods against a Marine. Trust me, nobody!"
Ron shook his head confidently. "So he'll definitely head for the main road with his bodyguards. All we need to do is set up some surprises on that road, wait for them to arrive, and then... BOOM!" Ron licked his lips with anticipation, his own vision making him eager to proceed.
After so much experience in combat, Ron had to admit he seemed to show some early signs of developing a taste for violence, but he didn't consider that necessarily problematic.
On the battlefield, there was no room for hesitation. Showing mercy to enemies meant being cruel to yourself. It was precisely because of this mindset that Ron had fired without hesitation when adversaries tried to play victim, allowing him to survive and counterattack numerous times.
His more conscientious former teammates hadn't been so fortunate.
"Grant, let's begin. You handle the cattle barn, and I'll set up surprises on the highway. Remember, don't forget to apply thick camouflage paint on your face. That way, even if we're caught on surveillance, it'll be difficult for facial recognition algorithms to identify you."
(End of Chapter)
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